


Stand Still Awhile

by hesterbyrde



Series: Friendship is Unnecessary [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Avengers Tower, Blow Jobs, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Mild Suit Kink, Minor Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Morning Sex, Paparazzi, Past Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Rough Sex, Shower Sex, Suit Porn, and they all lived in the tower, but it's consensual, for now anyway, i need a date fic, opera - Freeform, real person appearance by Renee Fleming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 20:43:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18645766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hesterbyrde/pseuds/hesterbyrde
Summary: "I need you to come as my plus one to this gala thing for some art exhibit that Stark Industries is funding over at the Met." Natasha said.Steve sputtered a little. "What?""A gala. Last Saturday of this month. I need a date. You're not busy right?""But... you hate those things." Steve said by way of a rather stuttering non-answer."Look, Stark says everyone on payroll has to come, and I don't want to go by myself.""Why don't you ask Clint?""He's on vacation. Off the grid.""Maria Hill?""Already has a date.""Sam?""Out of town. He was actually really disappointed too, but it's his mom's birthday that weekend.""Is Nick Fury too busy being dead to-""Steve!" Natasha half-shouted, a smile coloring her voice. "It's my job to find you dates, not the other way around. Come on. Help a girl out?"He sighed, rubbing one hand over the back of his neck. "Aw Nat, I'm not good at those things. You know that. Besides… you don't think people will talk if we showed up together?""And they wouldn't if I showed up with Maria Hill on my arm?"  Natasha shot back. "Come on, Steve. I promise it will be fun."





	Stand Still Awhile

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings all! Happy Monday!
> 
> So... Endgame. That was a thing that happened. And while I'm firmly in camp, "I enjoyed the movie overall but there were some things that made me want to pull my hair out" those things are pretty big things. But I enjoyed it. Thought it was a very fitting conclusion. And now I'm writing fix-it fic as fast as my hands will type. More on that later. Follow me on Tumblr at @littlethingwithfeathers if you want to hear more about what's coming for this series now that Endgame is out. There was a lot that I had to put on hold until we knew what happened, but there are still more than a few fics coming for this series. So stay tuned.
> 
> But hopefully, this will serve as a nice fluffy "and they all lived in Avengers Tower together" therapy fic to help dry post Endgame tears. I know I cried buckets. 
> 
> Thank you as always to my lovely beta readers KaminaDuck, musicnerd88, and Eria. I couldn't do this without you guys. <3
> 
> And thank you all so much for reading. Your kind words and encouragement and just... your enthusiasm for this weird little series gives me life and a reason to write. Seriously, when I started this series with "What Strength I Have's Mine Own" it was just supposed to be a little hurt/comfort therapy piece for how fucking sad I was after Infinity War. And here we are now... over 130k words later and still going. So thank you! Your comments are the reason this series exists in the first place, and they continue to fuel my creative fire. Love love love to all of you! 
> 
> Enjoy everyone! I'll see you next week.

Two months after the fall of SHIELD, Steve decided to move back to New York City. But Manhattan this time rather than Brooklyn. After everything that had happened, it seemed a prudent decision to put himself back on familiar turf and closer to his colleagues. And to his friends. His friend, really… Natasha was still there, with a whole floor of the Avengers Tower to herself. Something in Steve eased knowing that she was nearby, even if they didn't see each other often. He was glad to be back in the city, but even gladder that Natasha was just up the street. A five minute walk and a knock on her door away...

Plus, it was easier to pick up and go from LaGuardia than it was from any airport in D.C. And with the search for Bucky going full tilt, that was more important than it had ever been. Sam had followed him to New York, of course, and Tony had welcomed them both with open arms just as he had Natasha and Maria Hill. Sam, like Nat, had opted to stay in Avengers Tower proper, but Steve had chosen to keep a flat of his own about a block away overlooking Central Park. 

Bucky's reappearance… the fall of SHIELD… the world had changed around Steve yet again. For the third time in fewer years (relatively speaking) it had whirled like a roulette wheel. To say he wanted to keep a little space for himself was to understate things by a large margin. But he didn't stay too far away. He was just around the corner and down the street. Never too far...

One day, as Steve had been headed out to grab lunch, his phone rang. Not his usual phone, which he went for first and quickly discovered the screen blank. It was Nat's phone vibrating away in its usual inner pocket of his windbreaker. He frowned and pulled it out to answer.

"Hey Natasha. What's up?"

"Hey Steve!" She piped back, sounding quite perky but a little out of breath.

"What's going on?" he said, slowing his stride a little. "Where are you? You sound winded."

"Headed down Fifth. Listen, can I ask a favor?"

"Of course." Steve said, his voice turning a little serious. "Anything for you. You know that."

He heard her laugh. "You're going to regret saying that."

"Nat..." Her name was a warning, but his smile bled through.

"I need you to come as my plus one to this gala thing for some art exhibit that Stark Industries is funding over at the Met."

Steve sputtered a little. "What?"

"A gala. Last Saturday of this month. I need a date. You're not busy right?"

"But... you hate those things." Steve said by way of a rather stuttering non-answer.

"Look, Stark says everyone on payroll has to come, and I don't want to go by myself."

"Why don't you ask Clint?"

"He's on vacation. Off the grid."

"Maria Hill?"

"Already has a date."

"Sam?"

"Out of town. He was actually really disappointed too, but it's his mom's birthday that weekend."

"Is Nick Fury too busy being dead to-"

"Steve!" Natasha half-shouted, a smile coloring her voice. "It's my job to find you dates, not the other way around. Come on. Help a girl out?"

He sighed, rubbing one hand over the back of his neck. "Aw Nat, I'm not good at those things. You know that. Besides… you don't think people will talk if we showed up together?"

"And they wouldn't if I showed up with Maria Hill on my arm?" Natasha shot back. "Come on, Steve. I promise it will be fun. It's small… and I won't embarrass you. I know you like to keep your life private and I'll make sure to behave myself so the gossip rags don't talk."

Steve sighed again. "What's the dress?"

"Cocktail formal."

"Well, I don't have anything to wear then."

"Oh, that's already taken care of." she cut back, still audibly grinning.

"Is it, now?"

He heard a sound like she was sucking her lip. "I might have already made an appointment with a tailor for you…"

He laughed around yet another, even more long-suffering sigh as he took the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "Because you knew I wouldn't say no."

"In my defense, you didn't say no."

"No… I guess with you I can't."

"I mean you _could_ say no."

"But I won't." he replied warmly. "Not to you."

"You did say anything." she teased. "And I did say that you'd regret it."

"Nah. Like you said, you'll be there to make sure I have fun."

"So you'll go?"

"Sure, Nat. For you."

He could hear her smile again. "Wonderful! Your tailor appointment is noon tomorrow at Alan David Custom on 16th Street."

"I'll be there. Lunch after?"

"Deal." She replied, clearly excited by the prospect. "The ramen place over on 14th?"

"That sounds great. I'll meet you there when I'm done."

"Great! See you tomorrow, then."

"Be careful, Nat."

"You too, Steve."

He hung up and frowned to himself as he stared at the lock-screen. Why had he said "Be careful?" She wasn't doing anything dangerous and neither was he. But he'd said it, and she'd answered in kind, both of them as if on autopilot and… and also not. It wasn't just some throwaway. She'd meant it, and so had he.

_Be careful._

It meant something else between them these days, Steve realized. It had been their parting salutation for awhile now, especially when Natasha was going out on a call for Stark. But it had slipped out now... when the most dangerous thing that might happen in the next twenty four hours was Steve getting stuck with a pin.

Because it was starting to mean something more.

His frown bent back into a warm smile as he put his phone away. There was something about it he liked, though he didn't want to stare at it too hard. As if it were an illusion that might vanish or fade under scrutiny. And there was something he liked about this gala, too. It had been awhile since he'd seen his friend. Now they were going to have lunch and a lovely evening out with their colleagues. Part of him hated to admit it, but he was looking forward to it.

***

Steve arrived ten minutes early to meet Natasha at Stark-turned-Avengers Tower. He spent a few moments pacing the lobby, fidgeting with the sleeves of his navy suit for reasons that had nothing to do with the perfectly tailored fit. But he wasn't there long before he ran into Tony with Pepper Potts on his arm. They both looked eye-catchingly immaculate, him in a black suit with a subtle silvery sheen and a very loud red and gold tie, and her in a frothy confection of a pink dress. Steve couldn't help but smirk at the fact that she towered over Tony in her gold heels. 

Their appearance also made him somewhat uneasy. Steve trusted both Natasha and the tailor's suggestions on his suit, but seeing the two of them... Steve suddenly felt vastly under-dressed. 

"Would you look at that. It's good old "Stars-And-Stripes-Forever!" Tony crowed, throwing his arms around Steve's waist in a warm hug. "And here I called Romanoff a liar when she said you were her date."

"I'm wounded, Tony." Steve replied covering his heart with his hand with an air of theatrically fake indignation.

"Well, I just didn't want to see a sweet girl like her get her heart broken." Tony batted his eyelashes at Steve from behind his tinted glasses before swatting him across the chest affectionately. "You look great, man. Very classic." 

Steve smoothed his hands down the front of his comparatively simple navy jacket. "Truth be told, when I saw you two, I was worried I was under-dressed."

"Tony's overdressed." Pepper chimed in with a wry grin. "And I have to match, of course."

"I'm not overdressed." Tony rebutted, turning in place like a runway model. "I can't be overdressed. It's my party!" 

"You can be overdressed if you announced the dress code on the invitation to the event. Which is a gala, not a party." Pepper corrected him, making a show of flattening his collar.

Tony just snorted, but seemed to enjoy the attention nonetheless. \

"Well, you both look amazing." Steve said genuinely.

"And so do you." she replied. "Very dashing."

"Yeah, there's people that look boring in "classic." And then there's people like you who are the reason the classics last." Tony said, clapping him on the shoulder.

"Well thanks, Tony. Especially coming from you, I appreciate it very-" he stopped mid-sentence as movement at the top of the staircase caught his eye. Pepper and Tony followed his gaze just in time to see Natasha Romanoff appear on the mezzanine. 

"Speaking of classic…" Tony muttered. "Jesus."

Steve felt his mouth go dry at the sight of her. Natasha looked nothing short of stunning in her knee length cocktail dress of crimson silk. It wasn't fitted, and yet somehow kept no secrets about her figure as the fabric seemed to swirl around her like water with every step. And every detail of the outfit only served to elevate and sharpen her look. Matte Merlot-red lipstick… shining black heels… and her shining auburn hair pinned into a loose braid. Classic, indeed. 

She dropped her gaze with an attractive sort of demurity when she saw them all staring at her. And Steve hustled over to the foot of the stairs as she descended, offering his hand for the last few steps. She wasn't the least bit unsteady in her lofty heels, but he couldn't deny his impulses towards decorum. Or perhaps just the desire to be a little closer to her. And of course, she couldn't resist taking his hand if only to indulge them both a little in their own little movie scene.

"You look stunning." he said softly enough that the words were for no one but her, earning himself a small smile as she glanced up at him through her lashes.

"You should see yourself, soldier." she replied with a smoky whisper.

"Well, since we're all here, let's just ride together!" Tony proclaimed, throwing open the door to the street where a slick black limousine was waiting at the curb.

"Shall we?" Steve made a playfully dutiful show of offering his arm.

"We shall." Natasha replied, taking it with her own bit of a dramatic flair.

***

When they arrived at the museum, Steve and Natasha stepped out of the limousine into a hail of camera flashes. Steve tried not to squint. Tony had advised that years ago at the first big Avengers press tour after the battle in New York, but it was hard not to. He could barely see where he was going under the constant barrage of light, and ultimately it was Natasha that got the two of them up to the red carpeted walkway that would lead them to the front entrance.

"Now I remember why I really hate these things." He said under his breath as she looped her arm into his again. "Paparazzi everywhere."

"Just stand still awhile for them. Smile and wave. Give everyone their shot." she said speaking gently between her teeth as she followed her own advice. "They'll leave you alone after that."

"It's not just that." Steve grumbled. "Somehow they always manage to snap a picture and blow it way out of context. Make it look like something is happening that isn't. Last week, someone nabbed a picture of me drinking a Coca Cola, and suddenly I'm getting promotional requests! Took me a week to work out why."

She looked up at him, eyes gone wide and uncertain even under the relentless onslaught of camera flashes. "Do I need to let go of your arm?" she asked, her voice so low he almost couldn't make it out over the rattling shutters.

A frown flickered on his brow. "No, no." he said, covering her hand with his where it rested on his elbow. "I'm your date, right?"

Then she smiled, bright and open as a sunrise. "Right."

"Steve! Steve Rogers! Over here!" A voice called out from the swarm of photographers.

Steve looked up towards the crowd, and did his best to emulate Natasha's amazing camera-ready smile, but she would always be the better actress. Hopefully, she made him look like he was having a good time. He was concentrating on his own presentation so much, he didn't notice that Natasha's eyes lingered for just a second before she turned to give her own prize-winning smile. Just a second. Not even half of one… her eyes catching on the line of his jaw. The shine of his eyes. The way his suit fit like a second skin. Like armor. Like his suit. The real one. Like he was born to wear it...

Eventually, they made it all the way inside to the gallery. The debuting exhibit turned out to be a collection of paintings and sculptures with themes taken from mythology and folklore. Every space was filled with warrior queens, delicate nymphs, charging pegasai, immolating phoenixes, and a great many more things Steve had never seen before and had no names for. He and Natasha made their rounds, pausing here and there to marvel at the artwork and to make polite conversation with the other patrons. At the far end of the gallery, they found several neat rows of chairs in front of a small platform with a grand piano.

"There gonna be music later?" Steve asked.

"An opera singer is coming down from Lincoln Center to do a little concert. Didn't catch a name." Natasha said. "I think that's the program and translations on the seat."

Steve just nodded in response, moving on to admire a painting of a woman working to free a unicorn from a thicket. The prospect of music was certainly a mark in the evening's favor. He'd actually always liked opera, but never had much occasion to go. Much less the money back in the day. But once, Bucky had traded some bootleg whiskey for a case of records, and in the collection between the Bing Crosby and the Bessie Smith vinyls had been a couple of full length operas. _The Marriage of Figaro_ and _La Boheme._ Bucky had never been much for the stuff, but Steve would turn it on while he was gone to the docks, singing as much as his pitiful lungs would allow while he did the ironing for Mrs. Pemberly, or did chores of his own.

He let the ache that recollection kindled settle in his heart a little, as he was learning to do these days. For a long while since learning Bucky was still alive, he would flinch at nearly anything that prompted a memory of his best friend to surface. But he was learning to let it be. Sam had taught him that. That feelings were just feelings. That he couldn't control them, but they would pass if he didn't fight with them so much and just focused on more concrete things. Steve was getting better at that… at focusing when his emotions would get the better of him. Like now. He just needed to think about the things he had control over. 

He still had the file, he reminded himself. He and Sam were still working leads. He was doing his best, and it was just a matter of time. They would find him again. It wasn't hopeless and he wasn't helpless. He had a plan. He had the file. He had Sam.

And he had Natasha's hand on his elbow. Warm and soft, but strong. So, there was also that, and it was strangely more grounding than anything else.

But that didn't stop Steve from glancing quickly around the room, almost on reflex. As if the mere act of thinking about Bucky might summon him to this place. It was stupid and incredibly naive, he knew. Too many people here. Too many cameras. Too many people _with_ cameras. No, he'd never see Bucky in a place like this. But that didn't make it seem any less vacuous for his absence. 

Unconsciously, he covered Natasha's hand with his own, hugging it against the wool of his suit and feeling the warmth of her fingers seep through the layers of fabric. Here. Now. Art and his friend. Everything else would just slip by if he let it...

"Captain Rogers? Ms. Romanoff?" A gentleman in a gray suit meekly entreated, shattering Steve's train of thought. They both turned, Natasha's face already painted with that perfect publicity smile which Steve did his best to approximate given his state of mind. The little man proffered both a camera and a museum staff badge. "I was wondering if I could get a picture of you two, please? For the museum?"

"Of course" Steve replied. He felt Natasha's slender arm find its way around his waist, so he followed suit. The silk of her dress was ridiculously soft, and ate up the heat of her skin when he pressed his palm against it. But he really didn't need to be thinking about that right now. _Just stand still and smile,_ he thought. Not a difficult task when your date was Natasha Romanoff.

A few clicks of the shutter and the photographer extended his hand. "Thank you both. So sorry to bother you."

They all shook hands with murmurs of "No problem." and "You're welcome!" and then the two of them returned to their somewhat private tour of the gallery.

Steve realized he'd clung to her waist throughout the whole exchange. That he was still holding onto her. And when the museum photographer was safely out of earshot, Natasha turned them slightly, her hand coming to his chest out of view of the rest of the room. 

"You okay?" She asked, keeping her voice close between them. Her attention was expertly hidden by the barest tilt of her head and a twist of her shoulders.

He nodded, still not letting go. "Just… You were talking about the opera singer, and I just… Bucky had bought me a few records of opera once. Kinda took me back for a second."

Natasha pressed her painted lips together as she adjusted his lapels and tie. It was a soothing gesture in reality, as much for her as it was for him since there wasn't a thread out of place. She was trying to think of what to say, he realized. Auditioning words in her head and discarding them, like rifling through a deck of cards.

"You'll find him." she said finally, her voice no less confident for its softness. "You only just started looking."

Steve just nodded again, and smiled gratefully down at her.

They were about to move on to a rather abstractly rendered painting of muses when Tony found them again. He was clearly already a couple of whiskeys in judging by his swagger. "Rogers! Romanoff!" he called a little louder than was necessary. "Come on! We're going to start the concert thingy, and I want you to sit up front with Pepper and me." He busted into the middle of them, linking their arms and pulling them towards the stage. 

The other patrons were starting to arrive at their seats, and true to his word, Tony ensconced the two of them right up front. Once everyone was seated, applause erupted as an apple-cheeked woman in a deep green dress made of crisp, whispering satin made her way to the stage, pursued by a dark-haired young man in a black-on-black suit. She introduced herself as Renee Fleming, a name which meant nothing to Steve, but clearly meant a great deal to the rest of the crowd because that statement alone garnered applause. He made a mental note to add her name to his ever growing list of things and people to familiarize himself with. She gave some words of thanks to Tony and to the museum, which were also garnished with polite applause, before nodding to her accompanist and squaring her shoulders.

The concert was stellar. Hearing opera on a record player was one thing. Hearing it live, where the music could surround one's whole being was entirely another. There was depth… there was movement… And Steve was awed by the sheer power that could come from a single person's unamplified voice. And furthermore, Steve was thrilled to hear an aria familiar to him from _La Boheme._ The recollection it brought might've made him terribly sad, but not with Natasha there beside him, their shoulders barely touching. With her there beside him, he could let the remembrance of those days in Brooklyn wash over him harmlessly. She was like an anchor in that way. She kept him from getting swept too far along that path.

 _"You'll find him."_ she had said. And Steve simply believed her. He could after all. It was Natasha. He could trust her.

When her set concluded, Renee took a generous bow to a riotous standing ovation. But she gestured for the crowd to take their seats again, and spoke in a soft voice that belied her grand singing.

"I would first like to thank Mr. Stark again, both for inviting me to be a part of this lovely evening, and for his generous donation to the Metropolitan Museum of Art." There was more applause, and Tony toasted to it with his whiskey as the singer went on. "If I may, I wanted to offer an encore to close the evening. When Mr. Stark contacted me about this event, he didn't tell me the nature of the exhibit he was funding. But I was fortunately able to view it before you all started arriving, and I was struck by this fine piece in the corner." She pointed to a painting of a group of white-clad young women standing at the edge of a dark lake, all staring up at the moon far out of frame. "It's title is simply, "Rusalki" which, depending on interpretation of the Slavic myth, are forlorn water spirits, or malevolent demons who lure men to their deaths beneath the water. But no matter the interpretation, the legends of the rusalka have moved many an artist, including the composer Anton Dvořák. And so I would like to close tonight by sharing with you the famous aria from his opera _Rusalka_ entitled "Song to the Moon." I will be singing it in the original Czech, so please forgive me for not providing a translation. But I'm fairly certain you all are cultured people, and know how to use Google."

There was a smattering of applause and amused laughter as Renee prepared to sing. Natasha leaned into Steve a little, tilting her lips up to his ear. "Would you like me to translate for you?" she asked, smiling up at him with clever eyes. He nodded with a matching grin, and let her settle a little closer. They were still not quite touching save at the shoulder, but he could feel her breath at the edge of his collar. The music swelled and Renee began to sing. 

It was exquisite. The melody was both haunting and sad, but effervescent in its soaring sentimentality. But for Steve, the whole world turned on the axis of Natasha's sweetly poetic whisper in his ear. He was lost to it, without reason or thought. Frozen like a fly in amber. The music was beautiful, but the heat of Natasha's breath was intoxicating. And for just a moment he would have given anything to be suspended in this moment forever, swaying from the gossamer thread of her whispered words.

_Moon, high and deep in the sky,_  
_Your light sees far._  
_You travel around the wide world,_  
_and see into people's homes._  
_Moon, stand still awhile_  
_and tell me where is my dear._  
_Tell him, silvery moon,_  
_that I am embracing him._  
_For at least momentarily_  
_let him recall of dreaming of me._  
_Illuminate him far away,_  
_and tell him, tell him who is waiting for him!_  
_If his human soul is, in fact, dreaming of me,_  
_may the memory awaken him!_  
_Moonlight, don't disappear, disappear!_

 

The incredible aria swelled to end on an ecstatic, heart-rending plea. And just like that it was over far too soon. The spell was broken and the world continued to turn. Steve looked down at Natasha as the applause welled up around them and people were clambering to their feet. He was blushing, he realized, and so was she. And smiling. Sweet and open and… something… Something else.

 _Stand still awhile..._

Could they just stay right here, in the intimacy of this moment? Just a little longer, like the song so beautifully said? Gazing down at Natasha's upturned face, he suddenly understood the myth of the Rusalka all too well. He would follow her anywhere. Stay with her anywhere. Stay right here, with her sweet, nearly child-like smile and bright eyes that always assured him that everything was going to be fine. He just wanted to stay... 

But they couldn't. There were appearances to keep and all that. Natasha actually laughed a little, her nose wrinkling as she hooked her hand in his and pulled them both to their feet. They applauded and applauded just like everyone else, but they kept glancing down to each other, still stealing little snatches of that shared moment together. Like curls of incense. 

Steve finally leaned down even as the applause continued and said, "Thank you." which only made her smile the brighter. He loved that smile, he realized. He would always make her smile like that if he could.

They didn't stay at the gala too much longer after that. A few more polite conversations. Another circuit around the exhibits, catching things they'd missed before. And a long pause at the painting of the Rusalki in the moonlight. Then they quietly spoke to Pepper about a ride home, neither of them wanting to endure Tony begging them to stay.

***

The limousine dropped Steve and Natasha back at the Avengers Tower, and they found themselves loitering in the lobby like awkward teenagers at the end of prom night. Not that either of them had ever experienced such a phenomenon before, but there was a first time for everything.

"Thanks for coming with me." Natasha said, fingering the clasp on her clutch. "That would have actually been pretty miserable without you." 

"Well… Thanks for talking me into coming." Steve replied, scuffing his heels lightly over the gleaming tile floor. "No one else could have gotten me to go, and I would have missed out on a lovely evening."

"As I recall, I didn't do much talking you into anything." Natasha said, raising an eyebrow at him as she smoothed his already flat lapel.

"True." Steve said, squaring himself with his hands on his hips. "Never can say no to you."

"Really?" She asked, a challenge hiding in her tone.

"You should know by now it's true. I let you drag me through a sea of paparazzi, and I still managed to have a good time. Hell. After tonight? I'll probably go anywhere you ask me to."

She made a lovely little show of pouting her red lips in thought, eyes flicking around the empty lobby before settling on his face again. Something flickered there, both frolicsome and hungry. "Come upstairs." She said boldly.

Steve could've been knocked over with a feather when those words passed her lips. He stammered and stuttered bashfully for a moment, making Natasha's playful smile grow teeth.

"You said you couldn't tell me no." she tempted, giving a teasing little twist of her shoulders that had her scarlet dress swirling invitingly around her knees. "Come upstairs with me."

Steve just settled on nodding, as his mouth had gone completely cotton dry. He was content to just let her pull him towards the private elevator on the mezzanine, content to keep being a spectator on what was continuing to be a fantastic evening.

As Natasha unlocked her door, it occurred to Steve that he had never really given much conscious thought to how he expected her suite to look. But upon passing the threshold, he realized it was far more beautifully and comfortably appointed than he'd imagined. It reminded him rather strongly of the cabin they'd spent the night in after the fall of the Triskelion. Smooth, dark wood furniture with overstuffed cushions covered in warm, plush fabric. Blankets draped everywhere, all within convenient reach. And nothing, not even the gauziest of decorative drapes, obscuring the glistening view of downtown Manhattan through the floor to ceiling picture window.

Another surprise was that there were actual photos on the walls in stylish little frames. Mostly they were of Natasha with Clint and Phil back in what he guessed were the Strike Team Delta days, but there were others… newer ones with the entire team. The post Battle of New York dinner at the bombed out shawarma place. The Tower-warming party after the Triskelion fell. Tony had led them all on a conga line through every floor. And there was Maria Hill's birthday where everyone had to wear silly hats. The Avengers as a whole were slowly creeping into the narrative Natasha was displaying. Her story. Not SHIELD's story or the Red Room's story. Her story. The one that she wanted to tell anyone who happened by her suite about who she was and who she wanted to be. 

And who she seemed to want to be was always smiling. Maybe a smirk. Maybe a grin. Maybe caught in the throes of laughter. But the Natasha Romanoff that decorated these walls was happy. Clever, and keen, and so very happy. Especially in one sweetly candid photo of Steve carrying Natasha piggy-back style at Rhodey's birthday party last summer. Right before she pitched herself backwards and sent them both tumbling into the pool again. He paused at that one, touching the corner of the frame with one finger. They both looked happy, now that he noticed. Both of them… smiling in the sunshine...

Steve found himself wondering if this spoke to anything about her rebellion against her upbringing in the Red Room. That prescriptive place of order and discipline. Of forced separation in the midst of togetherness. Of solitude and mistrust. Steve had never gone digging in her freshly publicized files. He'd seen enough of the outline of her past in her present carriage to know what shape it took, and if she wanted for him to know about her past, she would tell him. He'd have it from the source and nowhere else. He'd certainly not accept his friend's past filtered to him through SHIELD intel. Not after what SHIELD intel turned out to be.

But he still wondered. He couldn't help it.

"Quite a view." he said instead, wandering over to the giant window. Many stories below them, the lights of Broadway stretched out into the night like a shimmering carpet.

"You could have a view like this, if you wanted." She said, kicking off her heels and joining him to admire the scintillating skyline.

He lifted one of his broad shoulders. "Maybe one day. I can boast a pretty sweet view of Central Park from my place."

"So can we," she replied with a wink. 

Steve just laughed, stretching out his arm and reeling her into his side. He'd been wanting to do this all night, he realized. The distance had ached all evening. But with all the cameras watching, he didn't dare close that gap on a whim. But now… there was nothing but the whole city to see them, so he held her tight.

"Thank you again," he said, the words whispered into the part of her hair.

She looked up at him, the lights of New York reflected in her clear, bright eyes. "Thank you for saying yes."

"Can't say no to you."

Her lips twisted into a kittenish grin. "Kiss me?" she said, her voice sweet and indulgent.

He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I was hoping you would ask."

"I was hoping you would presume."

Steve snorted softly and leaned down, carefully covering her upturned mouth with his. He was gentle and deferential, hoping she would keep taking the lead. And he was rewarded for his care as her lips parted easily, beckoning him explore and taste at his leisure. He could feel her smiling against his lips, and he could picture that smile in his head. His favorite smile. How someone who had spent so much of their life being guarded and sharp could be so soft and open, Steve would never ever understand. But he certainly enjoyed it. Especially when she started to give as good as she got, nibbling on his bottom lip and practically eating the moans that worked their way up his throat. Her hands had found their way under his suit coat, fingers dragging indulgently along the contours of his back.

"Come take a shower with me." she suggested between kisses.

"I'm definitely about to need one." Steve said, fighting to keep his voice steady as his hands roamed over the whisper-soft silk of her dress.

"Yeah?" Natasha raised up on tip toe, and for a brief moment, Steve thought she was about to kiss him again. But instead, looking him squarely in the eye, she curled her lips back off her teeth and took the soft silk of his tie between them. She gave a little jerk of her head and the knot came loose, and Steve thought he was going to pass out from how fast his blood rushed downward between his legs. 

"Yeah…" he said, the word escaping on a slow rush of breath. "Yeah, definitely going to need a shower. Fuck…"

She gave a pleased little grin that wrinkled her nose and dragged him by the hand to her bathroom. And of course, her bathroom was a ridiculously opulent affair thanks to Tony Stark. Quite possibly the most opulent and spacious room in the flat. A huge walk in shower. A bathtub that was nearly a swimming pool. All in white on white tile.

Steve was starting to seriously rethink his decision to stay out of the Tower. His bathroom back in his apartment would fit inside Natasha's shower.

"Help me with this will you?" Natasha asked, turning her back to him and sweeping her braided hair over her shoulder to show him the zipper on her dress.

"Oh." Steve blinked. "Sure." He reached up and unzipped her.

The silk dress fell to the floor without a sound, leaving Natasha standing in beautiful matching black lace… complete with a switchblade in a thigh holster.

"Should have known you'd be armed tonight." Steve said, watching her work the canvas straps loose.

"Oh, that's not all." she said, setting the sheathed blade on the counter.

"Of course it isn't."

"There was a loaded .22 in my purse with an extra clip, and this necklace," she flicked the medallion that hung in the hollow of her throat. "Houses a stainless steel garrote."

"Jesus. Paranoid much?"

"Technically, my contract states that I'm always on duty for Stark Industries as "special security," so I had to go prepared." She replied, undoing the clasp of the necklace and setting it down on the vanity with the switchblade. "You know Tony. He attracts… attention."

"Is that what I was? Special security?" Steve asked, catching his shoulder on the door frame. 

"Huh?"

"Why you asked me to go?" he clarified. "You were expecting trouble?"

"What? No, I always expect trouble. Expecting trouble is half my job." She frowned at him in the mirror as she worried with the hooks of her bra. "But I told you the truth. You were my date."

"Mmm… something something not all things to all people?" His reflection arched an eyebrow at her.

She gave an irritated snort and threw her bra at him over her shoulder. "It's just the truth to you. Remember?"

"Getting easier?" He asked, pitching the garment towards the laundry bin.

"The practice is paying off." she replied, her smile softening. Her fingers were working at her braid now, unplaiting her bright auburn hair until it was hanging free about her shoulders. "You could use more practice though."

"Romanoff, you don't need kissing practice."

"I thought we both agreed we needed practice." She said, shaking out her hair so it fell over her shoulders in silky auburn waves. 

"You seem to be doing pretty well."

"Mmm… I humbly volunteer to give you a practice test. Can I get you out of this?" She asked as she turned towards him, smoothing her hands over his lapels and pressing him gently back against the tile walls..

He took a deep breath, if only to ground himself and push against her fingers as they slid over his chest. "If you don't, I have a feeling I'm going to make a mess of it."

"Or I will." She replied, with a salacious arch of her eyebrow. That earned her a low growl between clenched teeth.

She slipped his tie free of his collar and fastidiously tucked it into his jacket pocket before busying herself with his buttons. She chased each with a kiss as she popped them one at a time. Pop. Kiss. Pop. Kiss. Pop. Gentle scrape of her teeth over the arch of his breastbone that had Steve weak in the knees. 

"You've been needing this." she opined as she continued to work the buttons.

"Maybe a little." he said, his voice gone ragged at the edges.

"No one special yet?"

"Wouldn't… ask anyone to share space with the… while I'm looking for Bucky."

"I suppose that's fair." She said, tugging his shirt free of his pants and lightly scratching her nails up his flanks. She didn't leave so much as a blush on his skin, but she did raise a flock of goosebumps.

"Plus I have you." Steve said, the words falling a little heavier than he'd intended. "Right?"

Natasha paused to look up at him, hands and brain alike grinding to a halt. She felt a surprised smile creep over her face at that, and she raised on tiptoe to press it to Steve's beautiful lips. "Of course." she said between kisses. "You'll always have me."

She pushed his shirt and jacket off his shoulders, catching both before they fell to the floor and draping them over the laundry basket. She let her eyes drag up the tightly sculpted lines of his body and barely repressed a wolf whistle. "Jesus Christ, Rogers." she exhaled, shaking her head. 

"What?" He asked, color creeping into his cheeks.

She kept on shaking her head again, a bewildered and besotted smile pulling at her mouth. "Do you even own a mirror, Steve?"

"Not for anything but shaving." he answered, distracting himself from the compliment by smoothing his hands up the supple curve of her back.

She just hummed, eyes flicking up and down the taut lines of his physique. She noted that when she met his eyes again, the blush had spread all the way up to his hairline. "Well, that is a crime." Natasha said, clearly back to the matter at hand. She kept one hand flat on his stomach as she moved around to one side so they were both looking at their reflections in the mirror. She let her fingers slip lower and lower until she was skimming the front of his pants. He bucked his hips to meet her touch, his lovely mouth falling open with a breathy little sound. "You do make such a pretty picture."

"If… you say so." he said between soft gasps. He was looking at their reflection, but mostly he was watching her hand in particular as she lightly stroked the starkly visible outline of his thickening cock.

"I do." she said standing up on tiptoe again to catch his earlobe between her teeth for just a second. "I've been looking at you all night. You looked amazing in that suit. And you look amazing half out of it, too."

Steve just moaned in response, his head dropping back as a full-body shiver overtook him like a wave.

"Still want that shower?" she asked.

He nodded, mouth still agape as he chased the press of her hand with his hips.

Natasha gave a pleased sort of little hum. "J.A.R.V.I.S.?" she called, maintaining unflinching eye contact.

"Yes, Ms. Romanoff?" The A.I.'s synthetic voice answered.

"Start the shower, please. My standard settings."

"Are you certain you wouldn't like the water a little cooler?" J.A.R.V.I.S. replied in a very prim tone. "You seem to be running a fever."

"Ha. Ha. Very funny, J.A.R.V.I.S.."

In response, there was a hiss and sputter of water on expensive tile, and steam began to curl out into the air.

She was stroking Steve in earnest now, cupping the bulk of him with the flat of her palm through his suit pants. The handsome flush that had begun to spread down his chest only partially had to do with the rising temperature of the room and everything to do with the way she was rocking her hand over his length. Just enough pressure to rile and tease. Not enough to really get anywhere. 

"Nat…" he half-groaned, his hips giving another shuddering little thrust as he chased her touch. His hands were in fists by his side, knuckles turning white.

"More?"

He nodded, licking his lips and groaning as she swiped her thumb cleverly down his trapped length.

Natasha flattened her hand against his chest and pushed a little, backing him against the wall again with a soft thud. And then she dropped to her knees, both hands working at his fly. 

"Nat…" Steve said again, her name drawn thinner and tighter across his tongue as he reached down to cradle her head. "You… you don't…"

"Have to?" She finished for him. He just nodded, his breathing turning frayed and ragged. "I know. But will you let me?"

He nodded again, more emphatically this time. He tried to speak… maybe her name or some sort of plea, but no sound came out.

"Do you want me to?" She asked, already reaching through the zipper.

Again he nodded, his legs spreading a little wider, and she tucked herself into the newly accommodating space.

"Then stand still… if you can." she told him with a sly grin.

The instant she exposed his hardening cock, she covered it with her mouth, delighting to hear Steve hiss as he sucked in a surprised breath only to let it spill from him a moment later in a long shuddering sigh. His fingers curled into her hair, but he didn't pull. He didn't manhandle or direct her. He just held her. Cradled her face and carded his fingers through her hair. 

He wasn't fully hard when she started, so Natasha could revel in the chance to take him deep, all the way down her throat. At least for the first few pulls anyway. But he quickly became too big for her to swallow elegantly. But elegance was no longer the order of the evening. He'd teased her with the idea of messing up his suit, and now Natasha just wanted to make a mess of Steve Rogers's cock. Slick him up. Lick him down. And leave pretty red rings on his cock with her lipstick.

Steve could hardly believe what he was seeing. Natasha Romanoff was on her knees sucking his cock like her life depended on it. Like it was the best thing she'd ever had between her pretty painted lips. And somewhere where he couldn't see, he could feel the wet pressure of her tongue working up the underside with clever little strokes. She didn't even use her hands to help her take him. One steadied her on the wall behind him and the other was tucked into his pants, gently massaging his balls in time with her sweetly sucking mouth. God, it was heaven. Delicious, spine-tingling, mind-numbing heaven.

"Natasha…" Her name was just a broken whisper. Steve couldn't keep air in his lungs long enough to actually speak, but he got her attention nonetheless. She licked her way up his cock and pulled off just as a little spurt of precome dribbled from the tip. And with unflinching eye contact she licked it away. He had to look away then. He let his head fall back against the wall with a thud that actually stung. And he was grateful for the distraction, because she was entirely too good at this. He was getting too riled up too fast. He needed to get her to stop, but that also seemed like the last thing he would ever want to do. But he wanted something else. Something more… something… he had to tell her...

"I want you…" was all he could manage after three failed attempts to draw a full breath.

She hummed with what was clearly false dispassion judging by the look in her dark eyes as she gazed up at him through her thick lashes and she rocked back on her heels. "You want it, you'll have to come and get it." She said releasing him and rising to back towards the shower. Her hands were on the soft curve of her breasts, thumbs flicking at her nipples until they stood pert and hard, and her hips wove a serpentine pattern as she walked. Everything about her beckoned to him. 

Steve pitched forward and swayed on the spot as she moved away. He watched with pupils blown wide as she backed up, turned around, and slipped her panties down her legs in the most brazen striptease he'd ever seen. His head swam again as more blood pooled down towards his already straining cock.

"You coming?" She asked, tossing the words over her shoulder.

Steve realized he hadn't moved yet. He still couldn't keep enough air in his lungs to answer her, so he made to follow her on legs that felt like they were made of water. In a fumbling and graceless hurry, he pulled off his pants, socks, and underwear, before nearly running after her into the shower. 

She was already under the water by the time he arrived, head tipped back as she luxuriated under the spray. Steve's hands were on her as soon as he reached her, followed quickly by his greedy, kiss-stained mouth. First on her lips, then on the hollow of her throat. Natasha melded her body to his, drinking the water from his perfect skin as he wrapped his lips around one of her nipples, pulling the sensitive little nub into the velvet heat of his mouth. He rutted blindly against the soft flesh of her stomach, another little spurt of precome making her skin slick. It was wonderful. She was wonderful. But it still wasn't enough.

He backed her against the wall, and she eagerly hitched one leg up on the shower seat, hoping he would catch the hint and not just stop there. Of course he did, two fingers finding the blushing slit of her pussy and gently pressing inside, just past the tips before curling back out again. She gasped, teeth scraping over his wet skin but barely marking it. She hitched her leg higher, drawing his fingers in up to the second knuckle as his thumb found her clit and worked it in slow circles. 

"This what you want?" He asked, clearly having to work to focus through the haze of his arousal. 

"Mmhmm…" She'd caught the corner of her crimson lip between her teeth, pinching her skin white as she insistently curled her pelvis forward towards his fingers.

"Not too much?"

"No. Fuck… just… put it in me…" She panted, throwing her arm around his neck as she tugged at his elbow, pulling his fingers deeper and chasing his touch where she needed it.

His mouth fell open a little in shock. But not solely in shock. "Natasha…"

She whined, rubbing herself against his infuriatingly gentle fingers. "I want it… fuck. Please!"

"Let me… like this…" Steve said, redoubling his effort and making sure his thumb was working her clit exactly the way he remembered…

God, back at that cabin. Her underneath him… moaning his name like she was dying…

Like she was doing now. All wet and wanting...

He felt lightheaded again. And this was not helped by her reaching down and taking his length in her slick hand. She stroked him root to tip, milking a drop of precome and licking her lips as she watched it drip down over her fingers.

"Fuck, Natasha…"

She pushed his hand out of the way and pulled him to her, breaching herself with the fat head of his cock. They both moaned roughly, Steve giving in and grabbing her both under the thigh and around the waist, pulling her further down onto his length. 

"God, yes…" she whispered, the words thin and reedy. And they spun out into a high whine as his grip on her body slipped and she took another few inches of him. Steve buried his face in her shoulder and thrust up as much as he could with her pinned to the wall. And Natasha just hung on. He was bucking into her, thrusting and thrusting, over and over, but the angle was too shallow. She could hear his teeth grinding in frustration. He wanted more. And he was fighting with himself because of it.

"Turn me over." she panted the words against his neck. "On the seat. Do it."

"Are you sure?" he asked. The mask of want he was wearing betrayed his sincerity somewhat. He was quite clearly already picturing it. Picturing his cock disappearing into the perfect clutch of her body as he smoothed his hands over the supple curve of her ass...

"I want to feel you, Steve. Turn me around, bend me over, and fuck me. Don't make me wait." She kissed him hard, biting his lip for emphasis. 

Steve Rogers was a man of principle, but he wasn't made of stone. In a flash, Natasha was folded over the shower seat on her elbows, and Steve was suddenly so deep inside her that she wasn't entirely sure she wasn't going to completely split down the middle. But she liked the feeling. And furthermore, she liked the thought. Being pulled apart from within, but contained in his strong hands. He wouldn't hurt her. Wouldn't let anything happen to her. Even when he was being rough like he was now… and oh God, he was good at being rough. But he would never ever hurt her.

Though she couldn't deny that some small part of her really wished he'd pull her hair.

But she knew who she was fucking. And that was probably a bit much to ask of Steve Rogers. At least this time. And so it was enough that he had one hand braced on the crease of her hip and the other gripping the base of her neck as he drove her down onto his length. She could feel his strength. Feel the strength he wasn't using. Feel the weight of him. The width. The length her body strained to contain and caress. It was all exactly what she wanted.

"Natasha…" he groaned on a particularly stuttering, undulating roll of his hips. "God... "

She braced herself a little better on her elbows and started meeting his thrusts, their wet skin making obscene slapping sound where they crashed together. Unlike the frustrating position from earlier, the angle here was perfect. Just the right friction. Just the right force. And he was so heavy and thick inside her. It was as if she could feel him pushing against her every boundary with each thrust and breath that she drew. Like he was holding her… containing her inside and out. Just a constant serene pressure that steadily built… and built...

Natasha could feel her orgasm beginning to crackle up her spine. A scalding, sparking sensation arcing upward and outward from where Steve was relentlessly driving into her. It was a different heat than the heat in the room. The air was soft and warm and humid, but the warmth building in her core was positively radiant. "Don't stop…" she tried to say, but the shower drowned out any attempt at words. She couldn't speak. Every thrust drove all the air out of her lungs before she could even try to talk or moan or cry out. 

Her orgasm erupted through her, bowing her back and driving her onto this length with an enraptured cry. The clench of her inner walls had him drawing up in ecstasy as well, milking out their ecstasy in tandem. The sudden wash of pleasure folded him over her as he rutted into her in a handful of desperate, shallow thrusts. And then suddenly all was still and quiet, save the static of the shower.

Natasha heaved for breath as Steve slipped out of her. She pressed herself up on stiff arms, clawing at the tile wall as she turned around so that their lips could meet in a messy pleasure-drunk kiss.

"Did I hurt you?" Steve asked, the words hotter than the steamy air against her mouth.

"I would have said to stop." She said, weaving her fingers into his soaking wet hair as she pulled him forward to taste his lips again. "I liked it. Did you?"

He just nodded, stealing another lazy, open-mouthed kiss that gradually turned into him just licking the water from her neck. His hands found her breasts again, caressing with less urgency now. With less want of anything save to feel the softness of her.

"I promise I'll tell you what I need." she said, curving her body against his as she reveled in the attention. "Return the favor?"

He nodded again, now just burying his face against the shadow of her throat. "You were right. I did need that."

She smiled then, kissing his temple. "Happy to help. I think I needed it, too."

They showered quickly after that, and piled into bed with a strange sort of domestic normalcy and process. They plugged in phones and tablets in easy reach, but neither bothered with clothes. Without any sort of discussion, it seemed that they both knew that clothes would just be a source of frustration in the morning. Especially if past was any prologue, and Natasha for one was certainly hoping it was.

"Are you sure I don't need to go?" Steve asked, his voice still a little rough and hazy as he turned onto his side.

Natasha sleepily flung an arm around him, pressing her nose to his sternum. "Stay." she replied, the word little more than a muffled yawn against his skin.

He let himself get truly settled then, sinking down into the pillows and around Natasha's already half-asleep shape. He pushed his nose into her damp hair and inhaled the scent of her. Let it fog in his brain and curl in his heart. Steve was already starting to sink towards sleep and he drowsily wondered at it. He was never this comfortable at home. Sleep never came this easy. 

Maybe… maybe he might move into the tower after all…

***

Steve awoke well after daybreak, blinking dully as he took in his surroundings. The sun was already streaming brightly through the vertical blinds, painting ribbons of buttery light across the plush carpet. He was in Natasha's room, he remembered. In Avenger Tower... With the pleasant weight of Natasha's body pressed against his ribs. It was quiet. They were so high up the noise of the city sprawling around them was completely inaudible.

He could have this. The thought he'd fallen asleep with rolled over in his bleary mind. All he had to do was ask. Just like Natasha only ever needed to ask…

Maybe...

He reached over to the nightstand and retrieved his phone, finding he'd missed two alerts overnight. There was an email from Sam with flights booked out of LaGuardia in two days. Someone in Ukraine was buying frankly ridiculous amounts of some chemicals used in cryostasis, so that's where they were headed to try and pick up Bucky's trail. That meant Steve needed to check his bag. He always kept one packed by his front door, in case they uncovered info that needed to be acted upon immediately, but it could always do with a check. Especially since he had the time.

The other was a text from Tony with a link to a gossip rag article, and the message, "You're going to make Barton jealous." followed by a string of bug-eyed emojis.

Against his better judgement, he clicked on the link and instantly his stomach tightened. It was a series of grainy paparazzi photos of him and Natasha last night, their faces bleached white from the camera flash. And with the pictures was the splashy headline, "Captain America falls for the Soviet charms of the Black Widow??" The first lines of the article were nothing but nauseating conjecture, but he couldn't stop himself from clicking through to the gallery.

Steve stared at the pictures, letting the quiet of the room settle around him. He stared at himself on the red carpet. Stared at his arm around Natasha's waist as they walked through the museum. Stared at himself... looking off out of frame with Natasha's lips at his ear as Renee sang. And just like that, the clawed tension in his gut eased. Despite the headline… despite the article ignorantly ragging on about how he'd apparently gotten over Peggy Carter pretty quick… Despite the horrible quality of the pictures… he couldn't look away.

Because in all of the photos he looked happy. He didn't look at all like the pictures plastered all over Tony's Instagram. Where his smile always looked at least a little tired and faded. He looked really and truly happy. Maybe not smiling in all of them, but bright-eyed and…

Happy.

And Natasha did, too. Steve remembered the exact moment one of the photos was taken. The one from the red carpet. He was looking away towards where someone in the swarm of photographers had called his name. And quite visibly, Natasha was stealing the moment for herself and looking up at him. Looking at him like he had hung the moon in its orbit. Like he was her whole world.

He looked down at her where she had puddled herself by his side, eschewing her own pillow for his shoulder. The cleverness was gone from her face. The taut lines of awareness and calculus smoothed away into peaceful sleep. Steve could never be ashamed of this, he realized. Just like he had never been ashamed of Peggy or of Bucky. He'd been happy. Natasha made him happy. He couldn't resist leaning over to press a kiss into her hairline, kicking himself for the indulgence when he felt her stir.

"Good morning." She muttered with a happy grin, tipping her face up to kiss his chest before flopping back to the pillow. Then she squinted at him with only one eye open. "Working already or- oh." She stopped short when she saw the picture on his screen, both eyes popping open as she sat up for a better look.

"Tony found them first." Steve said with a wry grin. "Said he thought I would make Barton jealous."

"I'm… I'm sorry…" Natasha said, curling in on herself a little. "I didn't… I should have thought someone might snap a picture right then. Like you said they blow everything out of proportion... make it something it's not. I-"

"What do you mean, "Into something it's not," Nat?" Steve cut her off, his voice devoid of all harshness as he cupped her chin to look her in the eyes. "Look at the picture. Look at us. I look happy, don't I?"

She nodded, holding his hand steady so that she could really look at the picture. At her lips against his ear, and smiling in spite of herself. Even through the noisy grain of the photo, she could see the shine of his eyes. And she wasn't able to see it in the moment… But she could see it now. See how much it meant… how much it meant that...

"That's… what I am in that picture." Steve was saying. "What we are. What _this_ is. Right?"

"You're happy?" Natasha asked.

"Yeah." he said smiling. Really smiling. It was a brittle expression. Like he hadn't _really_ smiled in far, far too long. "I was. I _am_. Are you?"

"Mhmm…" She nodded, burying her face against his shoulder again. 

He pulled her a little tighter against his ribs. "Then... let them talk."

Natasha looked up at him again, her brow puckering in disbelief. "Let them talk, Rogers? Are you sure? Just last night you were worried about it."

He rubbed his nose against her hairline before leaning in for a gentle kiss. "Completely sure. Unless… it makes you uncomfortable?”

Natasha wrinkled her nose, reaching over to scroll through and scan the article. “The only thing that makes me uncomfortable is how they are somehow making me out to be a rival to Peggy Carter. Because that's the funniest thing I've seen since someone tried to challenge Clint to a water balloon fight. But you're right… we both do look happy.”

"I certainly was. And am. And it seems like you had a good time for me being… what, your fourth choice for a date? Fifth?"

"You were the first, actually."

Steve blinked at that. "But you said-"

"What I _said_ was completely true. I just didn't need to actually ask anyone for the information." A rather pleased grin curled her lovely mouth. "What's the advice I keep trying to give you? The truth is a matter of circumstance."

"You're such a shit, Romanoff." Steve teased, flipping her over and pinning her to the bed to blow a raspberry into her neck.

She flailed uselessly, giving a mighty giggling shriek when she couldn't get free. The raspberry grew teeth, and the giggles turned to gasps as the two of them slotted together like they'd laid like this a thousand times.

"Mmm… looking for round two?" she asked, hooking one leg around his thigh.

Steve hummed back in reply. Admittedly, he had forgotten that they had both fallen into bed naked, but he was grateful for it now. "You're not too sore?"

She shook her head, reaching down between his thighs and finding him already half-hard. "I'm still wet from last night."

Steve couldn't resist touching her in turn, just to be sure. He told himself it was for her… to make sure he really wouldn't hurt her by plowing ahead quite literally. But in reality, some primal part of him wanted to just… _touch._ To feel her all slicked up and swollen. Still wanting him even after last night.

Two fingers slipped in easily up to the second knuckle, allowing him to press the pad of his thumb to her clit and work it in perfect, practiced circles. Her body opened up to his fingers, hugging them tight and making him gasp as he imagined that slick, swollen clutch around something thicker. More sensitive. Something that throbbed in time to the pulse he could feel in his fingertips.

"Fuck me." Natasha whispered against the line of his throat.

And Steve couldn't bring himself to deny her request. She was wet and wanting him and he couldn't resist. Not like this. Not on a lazy morning tucked into her bed with her begging him for it.

Her body ate up the length of his cock, enveloping him in a searing but all numbing heat that chased the air from his lungs in a single shuddering moan. God, she felt so good. She always felt so good…

He could have this… some part of him thought dully. He could be right next door. She would come knock on it. Let him have her like this. She would be able to come to his door and have _him_ like this. And he would be so easy for her… so easy… just like now...

He fucked up into her so slow and sweet. So achingly slow that he was teasing both of them. Natasha pulled at her own hair and clawed at his back in ecstatic frustration. "Come on, Rogers. You weren't this careful with me last night." she whined.

"That's why I want to be now, Natasha." he whispered the words into the shadow between her breasts. Natasha drew up around him, fingers knitting in his hair as she drew his face up to hers. "You feel… so good. It's so easy to lose myself in it… and I don't ever want to hurt you."

"You won't." she whispered, sealing that promise with a kiss. "But you can have me however you want me. Steve… please… sweetheart..." The pet name dripped from her tongue like honey, and Steve practically ate it from her mouth.

"Like this then…" he breathed, his voice almost trance-like as he took her hands in his. Not to pin them. Just to hold them. Like she was holding him with her entire body. Her entire being in truth. "Just like this…"

They didn't speak again after that. The only conversation was the whisper of sheets over skin and the wordlessly eloquent moans they passed back and forth. Both of which bled over into the harsh crescendo of their breathing as together they slipped closer and closer to that incandescent edge. Steve's skin prickled and his eyes slid closed as he drove himself into her again and again with slow, undulating rolls of his hips. 

And a moment later, his rhythm faltered and he was falling down into her. And she gathered him up, her inner walls clenching as a high sound escaped her convulsing throat. A sound perhaps shaped vaguely like his name. He couldn't tell. His ears were full of cotton and his vision had gone white. There was nothing but the spiraling pleasure that pulled him down and down and down to where there was nothing but her.

Nothing but his friend.

The rush ebbed and their breathing slowed. Steve's ears were still ringing a little as he pulled back to look at her. She smiled up at him, cheeks flushed and eyes gone glassy bright in the morning sun. She looked like the paparazzi photo, he thought suddenly. The one from the red carpet. 

And he hated that. Hated that picture, but just for a moment. Not the look, God, no. But the fact that a stranger had ever had seen her like this, without giving her the reason to be so bright-eyed and open. It was just a flash of reckless possessive foolishness that she quickly kissed from him, like sucking poison from a wound.

He gathered her up again, rolling them both to their sides so he could hold her. Both of them wrapped up in her downy comforter. He could feel the bright, late morning sun on his back. But nothing was as bright as the smile on her face. The smile he'd put there.

He could have this, he thought again. Or some shape of it.

"Good morning, indeed." Natasha croaked, laughter in her voice. 

"It is." Steve said, his voice gone soft and wistful.

"You okay?" Natasha asked. "Seems like you got away from me there for a second."

He bumped his nose with her. "Just thinking. But I promise, I'm nowhere else but here."

"Thinking?"

"Just that I enjoyed last night. Enjoyed you mostly… but the opera too."

"Yeah?" She said, wrinkling her nose in that way that made fondness bloom in Steve's chest. "Didn't take you for an opera guy. Art, most definitely. But not opera."

"Yeah..." Steve replied. Then he frowned as an idea occurred to him. "Y'know, now that you mention it, I was thinking… Maybe we should go to the opera. You and me."

"You think so?" She said warily. "Someone might see and take more pictures."

"I'll just tell them the truth. That I need a translator." he said. "Unless it's French."

Natasha snorted, one foot sneaking up the back of his calf. "They have these things in the back of the seats now that can translate into something like 70 languages."

He gently hooked an errant curl behind her ear. "But why would I need that when I have a friend like you?"

She stared up at him, that sweetly open expression wicking out over her face again. It was the same look from that photograph from the red carpet. The same look from a moment ago, when she was staring up at him out of the depths of her own ecstasy. Natasha smiled up at Steve like he was the best thing in her whole world.

"Alright." she replied, fairly beaming with an indulgent sort of excitement. "Opera it is."

***

**Author's Note:**

> Come flail at me about MCU stuff as well as Hannibal, Agents of SHIELD, Newsroom, Lord of the Rings and more over at @littlethingwithfeathers on Tumblr. I post semi-weekly writing updates when I'm working, so you can know what's going on!


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